I won in Texas.
Third time lucky to start the season.
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Returning as a defending champion comes with a simple rule: anything less than a win is failure.
This past week, I was in Sweetwater, Texas, for Rattlesnake Gravel Grind. It’s a grassroots race put on by the local community to support the area’s volunteer fire department, a cause that seems that bit closer to normal after last week’s craziness.
The Race
The Rattlesnake course is unique as a large amount of the course goes through private ranch land. It was single-track, double-track, sand pits, steep climbs, and even a couple of gates that had to be jumped.
It starts slow, riding into a direct headwind. I try a couple of mini-attacks for fun, but I’m mainly just chatting away. We hit the first climb and I go. My legs feel magic as I look around. I let the gas off - and then I go again.
The goal of attacking early was to split the race up into a smaller group. It’s much more fun to race in a motivated group of ten than it is in an unmotivated group of 20. The next climb is new and through some private land. It’s kinda rocky, kinda sandy, and a bit of a bugger to find traction.
I ride hard, feeling magic once again. I miss a turn, and the rest of the group follows. I attack again. This time it’s a gate that thwarts the attack. We got to this section of private land faster than expected and it hasn’t been opened yet. We call neutral as we all scramble over it in our cleats.
The race splits when the eventual third place tries an attack, now there are just four of us. I hear a small ‘hissss’ from my front wheel as I cross a middle section on a double track. It seals instantly but it’s a reminder not to ride erratically and keep to safe lines.
We become a group of three in a technical section, I attack up a steep loose climb and get a gap, but then neutralise myself when I put my wheel in the wrong place and have to hop off the bike and run for a few metres.
It’s violently windy, and the temperature is rapidly going up. I’m suffering like a dog in the heat, gradually feeling worse and worse. With 30km to go I try an attack, but it was absolutely pathetic.
The race was going to be decided by a final double-track section that leads into a downhill road sprint. I’m feeling horrendous by this point and believe I’m the weakest. I’m waiting for the sprint, planning on dive-bombing the final corner like the good little roadie that I am.
We go into the double track and stall. Instinct takes over and I attack hard. I’ve had a second wind from somewhere and we gap Hayden. Right, it’s Chris versus me again. I go again, once more not thinking but simply on instinct. A gap forms, but it’s very little.
We’re railing through this section at 40kph. There’s sand pits, cow pat, big ruts and drop offs. It’s loose, slippy, and full risk. I whack my pedal on a big rock through a corner and come unclipped. Did that just lose me the race? I check my shoulder and Chris isn’t there. I put my head down and bury myself.
I later learn that Chris crashed into a thorn bush. Full send - the only way. I fly down the drop off at almost three times the speed of my pre-ride recon and land on my front wheel. I save it - just - but come alarmingly close to crashing myself out too.
I hit the road section and know I’m home and dry. I smile. It doesn’t matter what the level of race, winning is never ever easy.
I’ll be releasing another article later this week going through all of my power data from the race.
Performance Anxiety?
With the first two races of my season going horrendously bad, I put an abnormal amount of pressure on myself going into Rattlesnake. It was always likely that I was going to be one of, if not the strongest in the race, but if anything that made it worse.
I had plenty of questions for myself in the week leading up. I wasn’t just questioning if my winter training had been good enough, I was questioning if I even wanted to be racing. On my long rides through the Texas nothing-ness I wondered if maybe this would be the year that I no longer get that buzz for racing.
We reached the bottom of the first climb, and any thoughts of not wanting to race were far out of my head. I did a soft attack to see how the field would react. I wait a second and I go again. I’m on cloud nine.
Bike racing is a cruel mistress. When you’re feeling down, it’s the worst sport in the world, but when you’re the one turning the screws there is no greater feeling.
Keep it Local
I wrote the following words after the race last year, twelve months on they still run true.
The Rattlesnake Gravel Grind may not be the biggest bike event you’ve ever heard of, nor will it have the strongest start list, but it’s one that I’m adding to my calendar every year. The phrase “spirit of gravel” gets thrown around a lot in a cynical way. As I drive away from Sweetwater I can’t help but think that this is how and why Gravel started. It’s events like this that have made the sport boom.
Whether you’re racing fifteen or a hundred miles, we all kick back and watch the same live music afterwards, exchange stories and smile.
A trip to Sweetwater, Texas will not be wasted. it’ll make you smile, it’ll make you laugh, it’ll remind you why you fell in love with bike racing.
I’d like to take this moment to say thank you to David, and the whole Sweetwater community. It’s one hell of an event that you have.
I’m now in Boulder, Colorado for the next two-weeks before heading over to California with my eyes on the Redlands GC.
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First win of the season and (now) a 100+ posts. Nothing to stop you - keep going!
Chapeau 🎩